


Letters to the Editor (archived)

by pinafortuna



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, angry letters to the editor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinafortuna/pseuds/pinafortuna
Summary: Letter to the editor from a Mr. Ezra Fell. With regard to your recent article reviewing My Gangster Grandfather’s Erotic Love Poems, the found-poetry anthology of Mr. Anthony J. Crowley I, published on 4 September, 1997.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 75





	Letters to the Editor (archived)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Book of Aziraphale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237368) by [GiggleSnortBangDead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead). 



> So this takes place in what I guess is now the "Book of Aziraphale" Universe, an unauthorized sequel? additional bit of unsolicited worldbuilding? Anyway, I just thought, you know, snooty magazines might have some thoughts on Crowley's poetry, and then I thought, Aziraphale probably has thoughts on their thoughts, and then I wrote this, and I personally think it's a riot, though I might be a party of 1 there.

To Mr. James M––––, of _The Times Literary Supplement_.

With regard to your recent article reviewing _My Gangster Grandfather’s Erotic Love Poems_ , the found-poetry anthology of Mr. Anthony J. Crowley I, published on 4 September, 1997.

I do not, as a rule, comment upon or engage with the goings-on of literary circles, preferring to serve as a quiet curator, and on occasion a guiding voice to those who consider my humble interventions worthwhile. And yet I confess I found myself unable to leave unaddressed your egregiously disappointing words on _My Gangster..._ , a poetry anthology the value of which your training at––courtesy of your profile on the Google Search database––at Harvard College and, subsequently, Duke University seem to have ill-prepared you to appreciate.

Consider your ever-so-toothy dismissal of the fifth poem in the series as “charmingly Brautigan-esque, the sort of cheek that is delightful in the sixth grade or while coming down from a hangover at Woodstock, but hardly emerges as a prescient work, even for the dreary literary landscape that is popular poetry today.” Let us disregard the fact that, by examining the original paper type, one can easily date the work to around 1942, preceding the majority of Mr. Brautigan’s work and indeed his literary movement by some decades: let us refuse to consider the impact of such a piece, and its style, might mean for the period of the Blitz of London: let us look, instead, at the question of form, which you––charmingly Cleanth Brooks-esque––esteem so very highly.

_Let me_   
_put my_   
_dick in_   
_you (please)_

Consider the question of scansion: bold, consistent single-foot trochaic lines, interrupted by a final iambic inversion that coincides with the shift in tone, from crude confidence to the tenderness it wants but fails to belie. Consider the way the poem can be read as an unfinished pentametric line, broken and thus halting despite its even flow, careful and measured despite its bravado, cut off right at the moment of meaningful confession into silence, the final foot unspoken and unwritten. I do not consider the landscape of “popular poetry,” insofar as that genre means anything, particularly dreary at all, nor do I mean to disparage the likes of Ms. Rupi Kaur, a lovely lady with whom I have on occasion had the pleasure of taking tea; nonetheless, if genre is a concern, then surely Ms. Kaur would find her work an uncomfortable shelfmate with this collection, as indeed she might hypothetically have got on rather poorly with its author.

I would be most happy to illuminate more along this line should you have further questions about the reading of poetry and the art of writing about it. You may find me at A.Z. Fell’s, a bookshop in London Soho, which I have run, in my quiet fashion, for some time, and where I would be most happy to continue this discussion in whatever fashion you see fit.

Yours, etc,

Ezra Fell


End file.
